


Together Forever

by dingle



Category: Sam & Max
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comic, Death, Growing Old Together, M/M, Old Age, Pathetically narm-y attempt at dramedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 12:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13053897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dingle/pseuds/dingle
Summary: Max deals with the loss of his best friend and partner.Alternate universe that mixes the Telltale series and television show. The future is not high tech in this one... it's just a normal old world here.This is a short, horribly cluttered, out of character, messy fic partly inspired by my experiences with family. It's probably beyond fixing but I spent too dang long working on this to just throw it away.





	Together Forever

Max lounged on the sofa in his mess of an office, clicking through TV channels with a shoddily-taped up remote. He yawned, completely disinterested in the flashing lights of trashy television and garish advertisements. "May as well be watching static," he huffed as he tossed the controller beside him, resigning himself to watch General Hospital.

He and Sam were old men now. They had retired from the exciting life of freelance police work long ago, and there wasn't much to do now besides watching reruns of narmy soap operas on television and seeing drunks walk down the street at this time of night.

The digital clock rang ten loudly, startling Max and spooking Sam awake, who had been dozing off to sleep in his wheelchair next to the couch. Max patted Sam's hand, and he relaxed enough to stare blankly at the corner.

Poor Sam hadn't been himself for a long time. He'd succumbed to hereditary illness in his old age, gone in spirit but not in body. Max spent most of his time dutifully watching over his partner nowadays, making sure he was comfortable and taken care of.

Max suddenly became thirsty, so he grabbed a plastic cup and filled it from the water cooler. It was lukewarm-- he had unplugged it a long time ago, knowing that both Sam and himself found the shockingly icy water more and more unpleasant as they'd aged. Still, he appreciated the company when Darla's sons would come and replace the big gallons for them, so he used it whenever he wanted a drink.  
Max took a gulp and plodded over to Sam, who was beginning to nod off to sleep again. He placed a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him awake. "Hey, Sam, I think it's time to get ready for bed."  
Sam blinked awake, wiping drool from his silvery chin. "Huh? Wh-what?"  
Max offered the hound the glass. "Take a drink."  
Sam put his shaky hands to the cup, and Max guided it to his mouth. They sat there awhile in silence until the water was gone. Sam licked his lips and coughed, then went back to giving the corner of the room the thousand-yard stare again.  
Max was never one for emotions, but seeing Sam like this tore at his heart more and more every day.

The duo had hit past their prime years and years ago. It didn't matter much to Max. He knew how to wreak havoc before he was a freelance officer, and he would certainly know how to have his fun in his years of retirement too. Max had never really cared where he was or what he was doing as long as he and his best friend were in it together, and for a long while, life was good.  
But none of it was pleasant anymore. Not without a partner in crime. Sam was present, at least in body, but he mentally hadn't been himself for a long while. Max simply didn't derive much pleasure from screwing around anymore. He often found himself staring at the lopsided pictures on the wall and cluttered memorabilia from past adventures. He wished that the couple could go back to better days, when Max was more spry and Sam was more... together.  
He frowned and ruffled the fur atop Sam's head as he wondered how things got this way.

  
\-------

  
First it was the Parkinson's. When Sam was still normal (well, as normal as a six-foot talking dog man could be), he started to notice slight changes-- nothing too out of the ordinary, he guessed, just aging. He slowly became more clumsy than usual, more stiff than he had been in his earlier years. Stubborn and oddly optimistic as always, Sam wouldn't let that stop him.  
As luck would have it, unfortunately, things got worse. Tremors slowly took over his left hand first. Then his right hand. When he found that he couldn't shoot targets properly anymore (not that he could really shoot straight in the first place) or reload his gun without Max's help, he begrudgingly gave up his favorite hobby. Max guessed that Sam knew something was gravely wrong, but his pride got in the way of facing it. Max would try to pry the dustpan out of his hands after countless baubles and coffee mugs slipped out of Sam's hands and shattered on the ground. "I can do it, bullethead," Sam would growl, and Max felt helpless to comfort him.

Sam and Max, as they always had before, would try to ignore the pressing issues at hand by using humor and poking fun at each other. While it alleviated some of the pain, this did not help for long-- Sam was clearly becoming miserable at having to need help with basic things, and laughter never really was the best medicine.

Then the dementia came. Like a beast, it was quick and ruthless. Sure, Sam had been somewhat forgetful for years now, and thinking through problems and puzzles had admittedly been a little harder for the both of them. But this? This was different from normal aging.  
In a matter of months, a rapid decline in Sam's mental health turned him from a silver-tongued jokester to an addled, confused person. He would wander aimlessly around the office and frown at things that didn't make sense to him. More recently he had even started forgetting who Max was.

By the time going up and down the stairs became a task insurmountable and Sam needed assistance with just about everything, his mind was gone. Their daughter couldn't visit much anymore, as she was always off on some sort of scientific work for whatever sort of organizations asked for her help. She did, however, ensure that Sam got the most comfortable and high-tech wheenchair money could buy.

In a morbid sort of way, Max was relieved that Sam wasn't cognizant of the loss of most of his facilities towards the end. Sam had been defiant of his illnesses the whole way. Maybe it was selfish, but Max didn't know if his heart could handle seeing someone as proud as Sam understand that he was slowly losing his autonomy.

Even when things got difficult, Max never blamed Sam for anything. He knew these things ran on his side of the family. But Sam hadn't done anything wrong-- at least by Max's standards-- to deserve something like this. The pair had always promised to be together, even when they were toddlers, and Max would be with him no matter what. But this wasn't fair. Sam was a nice guy. Why did this have to happen to _him_? Max had always figured that _he'd_ be the one to be babbling incoherencies at the end of it all, not Sam.

  
\-------

  
Max carelessly threw the empty cup over his shoulder and walked behind Sam, placing his hands on the handles of his wheelchair.  
He confusedly tried to look behind him, murmuring something Max could not quite understand. He calmed when Max gently squeezed his shoulders.  
The lagomorph strained to push his partner. Slowly but surely, they approached the bathroom. He flung open the door and turned on the lights. "Alright, ya old man," Max said absentmindedly as he reached for a toothbrush. "Let's get ready for bed."

  
\-------

  
A warm yellow glow illuminated the small, messy bedroom as Max flicked on the lightswitch. The blinds were half-drawn, and various wrappers and articles of clothing littered the floor. The dessicated remnants of what may have been a spider plant lay crumpled in a dry terracotta pot on the windowsill. Sam and Max had always lived a cluttered life, and they certainly weren't willing to change that now.  
The rabbit pushed to wheel his partner near the messy, unmade bed. He yanked the blanket onto the floor and fluffed the pillow on Sam's side. Carefully, he pulled off Sam's slippers and faced him, brushing off his hands.  
"Alright, let's get in bed." Max pulled a walker from beside the bed and placed it in front of Sam. "Ready? One, two, three-"  
He heaved Sam up by the arms and leaned on him, guiding him on the short distance between the wheelchair and the bed. This was a clear struggle for the canine, and Max strained to ensure he could make it the whole way. "You're good," he panted, and Sam dropped down on the old mattress.  
"That's one way to work up a sweat," coughed Max. He pushed the walker aside and moved to tuck his partner in, still breathing heavily. By God, he was exhausted tonight. He hoped the birds would shut the hell up for once and let him sleep in, come morning.  
Max smoothed out the blanket around Sam and patted him. "Jeez, Sam, you're still as handsomely rotund as ever."  
He leaned down and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. As he pulled up, Sam reached out and touched Max's cheek in a seeming moment of lucidity. "Little buddy," he croaked.  
Max grinned and kissed him again, this time on the cheek. "Goodnight, ya old fart."  
He flicked off the lights and hopped into his side of the bed. Max yawned as he stretched out on his back. He gazed up at the tacky glowing stars and moons they'd superglued on the ceiling after they first moved in together.

He remembered that he had pilfered them from a Toys 'R' Us for no reason other than because he could. Sam disapproved of the theft at first, but he quickly forgot since he thought it was great fun tossing Max up in the air to stick the plastic shapes above their bed. Max smirked. He remembered that they had ended that day laughing and covered in superglue, fur matted and yanked out everywhere.  
The glowing shapes were blurrier than he remembered them being. Max sighed, and he resolved to get some reading glasses from the bodega down the street. Then he decided against it, since he didn't read anyways.

Like every other night, Max turned over and threw his arm around Sam, burying his face into his fur. He leaned into the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he wondered what to do with his next day. He figured that they'd probably sleep in. He might call Darla when she got off of work, and he would certainly eat some of those leftover corn dogs from the freezer. And he'd definitely shoot the neighborhood birds if they woke him up early again. He would _love_ some target practice.

Max was thankful that the bed (and Sam) were warm and comforting. He'd hardly done anything today, but he still felt so tired. Here, with his partner in his arms snoring peacefully, the fatigue seemed to melt away. He patted Sam again and let his heavy eyelids droop.  
The last thing Max felt before drifting to sleep was the warmth of Sam's fur and the vibration of cars passing by on the street below.

  
\-------

  
Morning came, and Max blinked awake. The clock read noon, sunshine was filtering through the blinds, the room was warm, and (thankfully) there were no shrieking sky rats disturbing the peace.  
The lagomorph felt amazing. "Whatta nap!" All of his exhaustion was gone. He was free of all of last night's aches. It even seemed like he could see and hear more clearly than yesterday. Max had finally had a perfectly rejuvanating night's sleep.  
With a gaping yawn, Max sat up and stretched. Rubbing his eyes, he got out of bed and plodded over to pull the blinds. He pulled his hand down his face as he reached for the drawstring. He apparently had missed while not looking, so he made the motion again. Another miss. Frustrated, he concentrated on his hand meeting the plastic handle.

It phased through.

"What the hell..?" Max whispered to himself. Confused, he shoved his hand back and forth through the handle.  
He glanced back to look at Sam and suddenly gasped.

Max, or at least something that looked like Max, was still curled around Sam in bed.  
A rising sense of dread welled up in his throat as he snuck over to investigate. Max reached out to pull off the comforter. His hand swept right through it, like he was nothing. Feeling suddenly sick, Max held out his hands and stared at them as if he expected to divine the truth from the lines of his palms. He took in the sight of himself in bed. His chest did not move. His nose did not spout warm air. He lay perfectly still next to Sam.  
Exasperated, the rabbit huffed. "Oh, god damn it!"

Max realized he was dead.

Truthfully, he was disappointed more than anything. Max had always hoped to go out in a blaze of glory, doing something crazy like crashing a schoolbus full of lit fireworks into a Walmart. He'd even settle for something a little more tame, like juggling chainsaws out on the clothesline. But here? He just had to die in his sleep, didn't he? Boring!  
Granted, Max didn't do anything exciting anymore, but a fella could always hope that his spirit wouldn't have to see a vision of mediocrity at life's end.

The lagomorph rushed over to the dingy mirror hanging on the wall opposite the entrance. He pressed his face up close, poking at and poring over his slightly transparent reflection. Max's sliver hairs on his face were once again pure white, and his dark eyes were free from the cloudiness that came with cataracts forming. He noted with satisfaction that his body was tighter (and, dare he think, more attractive)? "That'd explain why I feel good again," he said as he pulled at his ears and squished his cheeks. "There's always a catch with these damn things." At least in death Max could be young again. He sighed and stared at his reflection.

Beyond the initial shock, his death wasn't much of a surprise. Max had been slowing down for a while now, and he'd always said "everybody's got to go sometime". With a frown, Max regretted not setting more fires when he had the chance.

Well, that wasn't his only regret. He'd be leaving the only family he had left behind. He knew that the Geek could take care of herself and her kids just fine-- she always was self-sufficient and smart.  
But Sam? With an unfamiliar pang of terror, Max realized that he'd never arranged for someone to come take care of his partner if he died. He'd always thought that he'd be the one to follow Sam into the afterlife. How long would it take for someone to notice there was something wrong? Who would care enough to look after an old hound all the time, anyway?

Max turned and walked over to the bed once more, this time on Sam's side. He was peacefully nestled under the covers.  
"What the hell, Sam? I was supposed to be the one to go last." Max spoke. He wasn't angry, just sad and emotionally exhausted. His voice wavered. "We've talked about it a million times."  
With a lump in his throat, Max reached out to feel what he knew he couldn't touch.

"Sorry, little buddy."

Max jolted. His ears twitched. There was no possible way...  
Cautiously, he turned to look around his shoulder.

"Sam...?"

In the doorway stood something Max had not seen in a long, long while. A tall, youthful-looking dog in a noir suit and ugly tie peered back at him.  
"In the ectoplasmic flesh." The canine offered a nervous smile and held his arms out.

Max took one step forward, dumbfounded. He started to shake.  
Sam cocked his head. "Max? You okay?"  
He stood silent, shivering and staring. Suddenly, the lagomorph leaped forward, crying out. "Sam!"

He buried himself in Sam's arms and let himself sob. He rubbed his face onto his chest and squeezed tight.  
This was his Sam. Strong, tall, smiling, and handsome. Max could feel him, he could smell him, he could--  
Sam recoiled as Max chomped down onto his hand. "OW! What the hell was that for?"  
Yep, he could taste him.  
_He could taste him!_  
Max grabbed Sam by the jowls and kissed him hard. Sam was surpised at first, but he jumped at returning the gesture. Suddenly, the rabbit pulled back and sniffled. "It's been a long time."  
Sam wiped a tear and cleared his throat. "It sure has, pal."

The pair turned their attention to their physical forms resting in bed. Max shook his head and wiped his eyes. "But how..?"

"It seems the lovely Lady Luck gave us the good fortune to kick the bucket within hours of each other," explained Sam. "I guess I died first. I got bored after awhile and started wandering the building, but then I heard you in here."  
He laughed. "The office is a mess, by the way."  
Max grinned. "Just how you like it!"

Sam looked back at his body again and frowned. Avoiding eye contact, he spoke more somberly. "Thank you for taking care of me, Max."  
Max's heart ached. Quietly, he whispered. "Sam, don't..."  
The hound shook his head. "No, really. I wasn't me anymore. And I never would have wanted to force you to--"  
The lagomorph grabbed Sam's snout and snapped it shut, hushing him. "Oh, shut up about that. Nobody forced me to do anything. I'd lug you around for centuries if I had to. We're partners, right?"  
"I know, I just..." he sighed and wearily smiled. "Thank you."

The couple shared a moment in silence until Max leaped out of his partner's arms.  
"Ugh, Sam-o, that was too saccharine for my tastes." He stretched out as if to limber up. "I might just have to destroy something in order to restore my tragically fragile masculinity."  
The dog quickly looked happier and gave a belly laugh. "Well, we've only got eternity to do it, so make it quick."

Max looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping his foot on the ground and scratching his chin. "I'm not ready to move on from this plane of existence yet. There's still so much we can do with our probably crazy-awesome ghost powers."  
"What about Darla and the grandkids?" Sam asked.  
"Oooh, great idea! Let's go scare the hell outta them!"  
Sam playfully punched his partner's shoulder. "I didn't mean it like that, bozo. I want to go see them again."  
Max rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay, we'll go make paranormal contact. Then we haunt and terrorize!"  
The canine looked at him, one eyebrow raised.  
"Out of love! Geez, Sam, I'm not Satan over here."

Sam looked as if he had a lightbulb moment. "Speaking of which, I know a certain dark lord of the underworld that owes us some big-time favors."  
The lagomorph clapped. "Goody! What did you have in mind? A gold-plated Desoto? Countless buffets of Fudgy Freezes and steaming-hot corndogs? Ooooh, a nuclear arsenal the likes of which this world has never seen?"  
Sam ruffled his pal's fur and chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure we can negotiate."  
Max jumped and used Sam's tie as leverage to hoist himself up on his shoulders. "Well then, what are we waiting for, ya oaf? Let's go raise some hell!"

Sam adjusted his hat and grabbed hold of Max's legs. He wiggled his feet idly. "D'ya think they've got ghostly fast food on our plane, Sam? I'm starved."  
The hound started walking out of the room with Max riding on his shoulders. He glanced up at him and grinned.  
"You crack me up, little buddy."


End file.
